CHAPTER SEVEN
RAVEN
The door creaks open, and I can’t move. I’m frozen—back pressed against the wall, heart slamming so hard I swear it’s about to tear free from my chest.
He steps inside, tall and dark, shadows swallowing him like they belong to him. The door clicks shut behind him, the lock sliding back into place with a cold, deliberate sound. His presence fills the room, suffocating me, and I can’t do anything but stare.
I can’t see his face clearly—just the shape of him, the broad shoulders, the glint of his eyes in the dim light. A slow, predatory smile curves his lips, and I hate how my body reacts, heat pooling low, thighs clenching despite the fear.
He moves closer, slowly and unhurriedly, like a hunter savouring the moment before the kill. I press harder against the wall, pulse pounding in my ears.
His voice cuts through the silence—low, dark, almost gentle. “You’re shaking, Little Spider. Didn’t you miss me?”
I can’t find my voice. My throat is too tight, fear and something darker choking me. He stops just a foot away, his presence burning into me, making my skin prickle.
He tilts his head, eyes tracing the line of my body—starting at my bare feet, sliding up over my trembling thighs, the loose sweatshirt barely hiding how hard my nipples are from the tension and cold. His gaze lingers on my face, the smirk widening when he sees the tears streaked down my cheeks.
I hate him seeing me like this—broken, unravelling, desperate. I hate that a sick part of me wants him to see.
He reaches out, his fingers brushing my cheek, and I flinch, but I don’t pull away. His touch is surprisingly gentle—just the barest graze of his knuckles against my skin.
“You let me in,” he murmurs, voice low and rough. “Good girl.”
My stomach flips, and I force myself to speak, the words spilling out like shattered glass. “You’re sick. This isn’t… this isn’t right.”
He laughs, the sound low and dark, vibrating through my chest. “Right and wrong stopped mattering the moment you started craving it. Don’t pretend you didn’t want this.”
He leans in, his breath brushing my neck, and I shiver, hating how my body reacts—how my thighs clench and heat spreads under my skin. His hand slides up, cupping my jaw, thumb brushing over my bottom lip.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, voice like poison wrapped in velvet. “Tell me you don’t want it.”
I open my mouth, but the words don’t come. His thumb presses harder, sliding against my lip, and I feel his other hand trace the line of my throat, fingers wrapping around, just enough to remind me how easily he could crush me.
His grip tightens, and I gasp, nails scraping against the wall behind me. He leans in, his lips just brushing my ear. “You can’t say it, can you? You’re soaked, aren’t you? I can smell how much you hate that you want me.”
I want to fight, to push him away, but when his hand slides down, fingers tracing the edge of my sweatshirt, my body betrays me—I arch into his touch, desperate for something I don’t understand.
He hums softly, pulling back just enough to look at me, eyes narrowed. “Such a pretty little liar. You keep saying you hate me, but look at you. You opened the door. You let me in. You wanted me to take this from you.”
His hand slips under the hem of my sweatshirt, fingers brushing against my stomach, and I can’t help the soft whimper that escapes. He smirks, sliding his hand lower, grazing the waistband of my sweatpants.
“You thought you could fight it,” he murmurs, his lips skimming over my throat, teeth grazing the skin. “Thought you could run. But here you are, trembling for me.”
My breathing hitches, and I grab his wrist, trying to push him back, but he just laughs, pinning my hand against the wall above my head. His fingers squeeze, just enough to remind me that he’s stronger, that resistance is useless.
He nudges my legs apart with his knee, pressing against me, the heat of his body overwhelming. His free hand slides into my sweatpants, fingers slipping under the fabric, and I choke on a sob, hating how my hips twitch towards him.
“So wet,” he whispers, lips brushing my jaw. “You couldn’t help yourself, could you? Touching yourself while thinking of me. I bet you came hard, didn’t you?”
I turn my head away, but he grips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Look at me,” he demands, voice dropping to a dangerous rasp. “I want to see your face when I ruin you.”
His fingers press against my pussy, and I can’t suppress the moan that slips out. He smirks, pressing harder, grinding his palm against me. “That’s it,” he purrs. “Good girl. Don’t pretend any more.”
I bite down on my lip, trying to muffle the sounds, but he leans in, biting down on my neck hard enough to leave a mark. “Let me hear it,” he whispers. “Let me hear how much you need it.”
His fingers slide inside, and I arch against him, a choked cry slipping free. He thrusts slowly, deliberately, eyes fixed on my face, drinking in every shiver and gasp.
“You hate me, don’t you?” he murmurs, his lips tracing my cheek. “Hate how I make you feel. Hate that I’m the one who makes you lose control. But you’ll take it, won’t you? You’ll let me break you, just to see what it feels like.”
I can’t stop the sob that tears free, but it’s mixed with a moan, and I hate that I’m already so close, his touch pushing me to the edge.
He thrusts harder, fingers curling, and I can’t help it—my body gives in, heat crashing through me, pleasure and shame tangled together.
He watches every second, his smirk sharp and satisfied. “You’re mine now,” he whispers. “And I’m not letting go.”
I collapse against the wall, trembling, and he presses a kiss to my throat, almost gentle, like he’s savouring the aftermath.
I know I should hate him. I know I should fight.
But as his hand trails over my cheek, wiping away my tears, I know that I’m too far gone.
And I don’t know if I’ll ever want to come back.
I’m pressed against the wall, and his fingers are still on my chin; my whole body shakes as his other hand slowly moves out of my sweatpants.
I can’t catch my breath. Shame floods through me, mixing with the raw heat still pulsing between my thighs.
I hate him. I hate the way his touch lingers even when he pulls away.
He wipes his fingers on my sweatshirt, smirking as he watches the way my eyes track his movements, like I’m caught in some sick, twisted trance. I should shove him away, fight back, scream. But I can’t. My legs are too weak, my mind too tangled with fear and need.
He leans in, brushing his lips against my temple, and I can’t help the shiver that rips through me.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me, Little Spider,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous. “You keep fighting, but your body keeps begging.”
I try to turn my head away, but he doesn’t let me, his fingers tightening on my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes are darker now, narrowed, hungry.
“Say it,” he demands, lips brushing mine, his breath hot against my mouth. “Say you wanted this.”
My voice is barely a whisper, cracking under the weight of my own confusion. “I… I didn’t…”
He presses his thumb against my lips, silencing me, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t lie to me. You opened the door. You didn’t fight. You begged me without even saying it.”
My hands tremble as I try to push him back, but he barely budges, pressing his body closer until I feel every hard line of him, the heat seeping through his clothes. He dips his head, lips grazing my ear.
“Did it feel good when I made you cum?”
My throat tightens, and I clench my jaw, refusing to answer. His hand moves to my neck, fingers wrapping around my throat—not squeezing, just holding, a reminder of how easily he could crush me.
“Answer me, Raven.”
I choke out a breath, trying to find words, but he leans closer, his teeth grazing my earlobe.
“If you lie, I’ll know. If you’re honest, I might be nice. Just this once.”
My voice is barely more than a rasp. “Yes…”
He hums softly, pleased. His hand tightens just enough to make me gasp, his other hand sliding down to grip my hip, pulling me flush against him.
“Good girl. Admitting it wasn’t so hard, was it?”
I can’t stop the way my body responds—hips pressing forwards, desperate for friction. I hate myself for it, hate how he’s turned my fear into something twisted and addictive.
He moves his hand from my throat to the back of my neck, holding me steady as he drags his lips down my jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin just below my ear.
“You think you can keep pretending you don’t want this?
” he whispers. “Even now, you’re soaking for me.
You can barely stand. You need it so badly, it’s pathetic. ”
My hands push against his chest, but he just pins my wrists against the wall, his mouth tracing a line down my neck.
“Do you know how many nights I’ve watched you squirm in your bed, trying to make yourself feel good, but never getting it right?
” he murmurs. “Pathetic little spider, all tangled up in her own desires. You needed me to teach you how to fall apart.”
Tears prick my eyes, and I hate how right he is—how his touch burns even through the shame. “You can’t just—”
He cuts me off, his lips slanting over mine, devouring me, rough and claiming. I gasp against his mouth, and he pushes his tongue past my lips, tasting me. His hands slide to my waist, pulling me tight against him, grinding his hips into mine.
My mind screams to fight, but my body betrays me—knees going weak, back arching to get closer, lips parting to let him in. He pulls away just enough to whisper against my mouth. “You taste like desperation.”
My breath hitches, and he bites down on my lower lip, hard enough to sting.
“You’re mine,” he growls, hands moving to the hem of my sweatshirt, yanking it up and over my head, leaving me bare from the waist up.
I cross my arms over my chest, but he shoves them away, pinning them above my head with one hand.
His gaze rakes over me, dark and possessive. “Don’t hide from me. You gave yourself to me the second you let me in. Now take it.”
He lowers his mouth to my collarbone, teeth grazing my skin, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. I can’t stop the moan that slips out, and he laughs against my skin. “There you are. I knew you’d give in eventually.”
His free hand slides down my stomach, dipping below the waistband of my sweatpants again, and I can’t help but whimper when his fingers find me already wet and sensitive.
“You’re shaking,” he whispers, lips brushing my ear.
“But you’re not pushing me away. You’re pressing closer.
You like it rough, don’t you? You like being forced to feel it. ”
I try to twist my wrists free, but his grip tightens, and he presses his body against mine, keeping me pinned. “Say it,” he demands. “Say you want me.”
I can’t. I can’t say it. Tears spill down my cheeks, but I can’t stop rocking my hips against his hand, desperate and needy.
He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, his own blazing with that cruel, addictive intensity. “Say it, or I’ll stop.”
The threat makes me gasp, and I can’t help the broken sound that escapes. “Please…”
He leans closer, his lips ghosting over mine. “Please what?”
My voice comes out in a whisper, cracked and helpless. “Please… don’t stop.”
He grins, triumphant and dark, kissing me hard enough to bruise. His hand moves faster, fingers curling inside me, and I arch off the wall, every nerve alight. “That’s it,” he growls. “You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.”
My body shatters around him, and I can’t stop the way I scream his name, tears streaking my face. He kisses the sound right out of me, swallowing my cries, holding me so tightly I can’t tell where he ends and I begin.
And as the tremors rack through me, I know I’m lost.
I didn’t just let him in.
I wanted him to consume me.